


Bundled up

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 11:48:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10555818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: When Mayor Mills evacuates the entire town due to excessive rain, Belle French settles down for the night in the convent with none other than the ever elusive Mr. Gold.





	

Shivering with cold, Belle French pulls her hood back when she enters the convent. She doesn't know whether Mayor Mills decided to evacuate all of town to the highest located – and oldest - building in the vicinity out of actual concern for her citizens or simply to annoy everyone by pulling them out of their houses in this horrible weather.

Whether the rains which have been coming down for almost three days straight will pose a real danger or not, here she is regardless, one of the last townspeople to arrive after she secured the library and her home above it to the best of her abilities.

Mother Superior coldly stares at her with apparent disapproval, but she has turned away before Belle can apologize for either the water dripping from her coat on the stones at her feet or for the fact that the mayor sent all of them here in the first place.

Not knowing what else to do and eager to settle down for the night when another thunderstorm begins to roar outside, she follows the example of those who came before her. She makes her way to the long hallways and the small, long abandoned cell-like rooms on either side of them.

Her suspicion that Regina only does this to make all of them miserable increases when she finds that there nearly isn't enough room for everybody. Already there are more people in each room than they ever were designed for - and of course all of them are already occupied.

Considering sneaking back into town to her own home rather than somehow sharing such a small space with at least four other people - most of them couples, close-knitted families or people associated with her ex - she tightens her hold on her overnight bag to complete her assessment of the overcrowded rooms.

At the very end of the hallway, right where the thunderstorm is so loud that she might as well be standing outside, there turns out to be a room which is still available. The glistening on the wall in the dim light tells her that water is running down inside the room, but it appears to drip beneath the ancient floors rather than pooling on it.

Deciding that spending the night right here will probably be less uncomfortable and perhaps safer than making her way back to town, Belle enters the room through the half open door. Switching on her flashlight, she stand dead in her tracks when there already turns out to be someone else in the room after all.

Trying to calm down the sudden rapid beating of her heart, she aims her light at the figure which is lying on the bed in fetal position. There is no reaction to the light, but the clothing leaves no doubt whatsoever that the man curled up right in front of her is none other than Mr. Gold.

Not knowing what to do, all Belle can do is stare at him. Only now that she has seen him, it occurs to her that the richest and most powerful man in town must also have been subjected to the mayor's evacuation.

For quite some time, she wished that she could meet the ever mysterious and rather handsome pawnbroker under circumstances which would require them to exchange more than customary greetings… situations in which he might not bolt at the smallest sign of interest and kindness from her side.

Admittedly, _this_ wasn't quite what she had in mind on such rather frequent occasions. But here they are regardless… although Mr. Gold doesn't seem to quite realize that.

When another jolt of thunder leaves the entire convent shaking on its very foundations, the pawnbroker curls into himself yet more. Despite the deafening sound of the weather, the unmistakable sound of a whimper on his lips doesn't escape her.

Just like that, she knows that that there's only one course of action for her to take.

"Mr. Gold," she says, alerting him to her presence. She files the discovery that he appears to be scared - _terrified_ \- of thunderstorms away for later contemplation. "Mr. Gold, are you all right?"

He doesn't have seem to have heard her, remaining right as he is even as she rushes to his side. If it weren't for the trembling of his entire body, she'd fear that he might be dead.

Instinctively, she reaches for him with her left hand, placing it on his shoulder to alert him to her presence. He reacts after all when she touches him like that; very much so. He may have seemed tense before, but that's nothing compared to the way he goes entirely, almost unnaturally still when she touches him.

"Mr. Gold, it's Belle French," she says as soothingly as she can, realizing that she thoroughly startled him in her worry. "Are you all right?!"

He rolls onto his back, allowing him to look at her. She lowers her flashlight just in time, preventing the bright beam from hitting his face directly. His eyes are wide and dark when he returns her gaze, liquid which might be rain or perspiration glistening on his brow.

He looks straight through her for a few horrifying seconds, his gaze entirely unseeing, but then he blinks a few times and focuses on her after all.

"Miss French?" he rasps, as if he can't believe that she's at his side.

"Yes, it's me," she says, trying to reassure him as she sits down next to him. Doing so, a rush of coldness reminds her of the soaked coat she is still wearing and she thoughtlessly shrugs out of it, leaving the garment on the already wet floor.

"Why… what…"

"I was trying to find a room for myself to spend the night," she says, realizing only then how strange it must be for him to see her right next to him like this all of a sudden. "All rooms were already more than full, except for this one."

"No one wants to share a room with the town beast," he mutters without a hint irony, the way he looks at her challenging.

"It seemed that you needed help," she says, raising her chin in a similar gesture of defiance as her heart aches for his matter-of-fact statement. "Besides, you're hardly a beast."

"I don't need any…"

Before he has finished speaking, a roll of thunder yet louder than those before all but pierces their eardrums. Belle is surprised that the very building doesn't collapse on top of them - not yet, anyway - as she tenses at the onslaught of noise.

No matter what he was about to claim, it's obvious to her that he very much can use some company. Mr. Gold has collapsed onto the bed, his knees drawn to his chest and his hands covering his ears, as if to escape the terrifying weather by sheer force of will.

He doesn't, obviously, but she very much wishes that he did, if only so it would provide a way out for her as well. As it is, there's nothing for it but to sit out the storm.

"It'll pass eventually," she notes, not quite succeeding to keep her voice optimistic.

The pawnbroker doesn't seem to hear, but when he opens his eyes again he looks at her intently.

"Do you want me to go?" she asks softly, increasingly aware that she for all intends and purposes walked in on something very personal for him.

"Would you mind staying here?" he asks in return.

"I'd very much like to stay here," she replies, mentally adding that she'd prefer to stay with him even if there had been other, empty rooms to choose from now that she's already closer to him than she has ever been before.

"It's… it's a small room," he mutters, lowering his gaze, as if wanting to remind her of the perceived downsides of her plan.

"We've got more space per person here than anywhere else in this building. Besides, both of us aren't all that big ourselves."

"Indeed," he mutters, sitting up again but still not quite meeting her gaze.

"I like being here with you, Mr. Gold. The others out here… they're probably too busy with themselves and their loved ones to even know that I'm there as well."

"Fools," he says, his voice yet softer than before, as if speaking more to himself than to her.

Intrigued, she decides to try what other remarks she can draw from him.

"At least you'll notice if I'm freezing to death, if only because you probably want to get rid of me," she says, keeping a very close look on his face and inwardly smiling when she sees the denial written all over it, if only for a fraction of a second.

"I do not want to be rid of you. Quite the opposite. I especially don't want any harm to come to you. It's _me_ who… I tried to keep your away from me for your own sake, Miss French, for you seem to have highly naive and untrue notions about me."

"Well, you haven't proven me wrong so far."

For just a moment, she fears that he may intend to do exactly that now that she has mentioned it, as if to purposefully drive her way out of some sort of fear that he'll accidentally hurt her. But then he sighs as if in defeat, wordlessly inviting her to stay with him after all.

Almost as soon as he has done so, lightning and thunder alike make it seem as if the room - the entire convent, for that matter - isn't there anymore at all. In a manner which seems to be entirely subconscious, he reaches for her hand where it is lying next to his on the bed, as if to find some sort of solace in it.

"I'm so sorry," he says even before the sound of thunder is gone entirely for the moment, his words only partially audible. "I shouldn't have…"

"It's really all right," she quickly reassures him. " _Really._ "

To underscore her words and to regain the highly welcome physical contact between them, she reaches for his hand and takes it in her own.

"Much better, isn't it?" she inquires.

He doesn't say anything in return, but he nods slightly at her words. That movement at first glance isn't all that convincing either, but there's an appreciation - gratitude, almost - in his eyes which tells her that he's as pleased with this as she is herself.

The storm is getting closer to them, the sky above the convent and even the very air inside the tiny rooms almost constantly torn apart by deafening noise and pale white light. With every roll of thunder and flash of lighting, Mr. Gold inches ever so slightly towards her.

Despite the rapid alternation between dim and overly bright light in the room, it's clear that the pawnbroker is shaking worse than before. His face is pale and tight, but his grip on her hand is loose. Clearly he's still mindful of her comfort when he's terrified.

That makes it only easier for her to tentatively wrap her arm around his shoulder when he's gotten so close to her that their thighs are almost touching. His eyes are wide in both surprise and terror at the increased contact, but when she nods in confirmation he moves yet closer to her on his own accord.

She guides his head to her shoulder. Belle doesn't know what exactly he finds in the crook of her neck, but he relaxes slightly when he rests his face there after her silent encouragement.

Delighted by these proceedings, she questioningly runs her hand down his back. When he mutters his approval almost directly into her ear, she takes it as her cue to start caressing his back with long and slow strokes.

She's quite certain that the words of comfort and encouragement she mutters to him are lost in the noise all around them, especially when she feels a curious and warm wetness against her skin. It takes her a second to realize that he must be crying, as if her nearness is upsetting to him.

She doesn't quite know how it happens, but one moment they're like that and the next Mr. Gold has all but collapsed against her, as if all strength has gone out of him, his head sliding down in her lap.

Belle cradles him protectively against her, no longer ignoring her urge to run her hands through his hair. It's yet softer than she thought it would be and despite the situation she savors the highly unusual nearness between them.

He is no longer trembling, but the fabric of her blouse which his face touches still becomes wet. Still, there's something about him giving her the distinct impression that he isn't crying out of fear or worry.

The storm passes eventually, but even when it becomes quiet except for the noise from the other townspeople reaching them from the hallway, the pawnbroker remains right where he is - and so does she, gratefully.

"Should I… apologize for this?" he asks eventually, his head still in her lap.

"No," she softly replies, burying her hands yet deeper in his hair for good measure.

"Thank you, Miss French. This really is very much appreciated."

"You don't have to thank me."

"I suppose I can manage the rest of the night by myself."

"I don't doubt that, but do you _want_ to?"

"No," he murmurs, sitting up at last.

"Neither do I," she smiles, delighted that he is a lot less reluctant than before about the two of them being together like this. "We might as well make ourselves comfortable."

"I don't think it'll get much better than this, unfortunately. Unless you want to go to Mother Superior to ask for additional blankets... for as far as there are any warm blankets here to begin with."

"I picked up some things from home before coming here."

"I fully intended to do so myself as well, but Madam Mayor personally joined the team which came to evacuate me and she _insisted_ that I came with her straight away."

If the brief snarl on Mr. Gold's face is anything to go by, he too thinks that Regina has purposefully exaggerated the danger of the situation for her own amusement.

"I brought plenty, just in case," she announces, getting up from the bed to retrieve her belongings. "I've got a sleeping bag, candles, matches and a ton of granola bars."

"You're very well prepared, Miss French. Hopefully you'll have a quite pleasant night."

"You too, I hope," she says, not understanding the reason behind his words and forlorn look.

"Well, _you_ are the one who came well prepared."

"We'll _share_ … won't we?"

"I… that's very kind of you. What do you wish to receive in return?"

"What do you mean?!"

"You're prepared to share your scarce resources with me. Surely, you expect something in return."

"Having your good company is more than enough."

"Miss French, please, do not… do not mock me."

"I'm not!" she cries out, reaching for him.

Only when he withdraws his hand as if it has been burned, she realizes that she grasped it. Hoping to wordlessly tell him that she isn't opposed to touching him but that she also doesn't want to make him uncomfortable in case _he_ doesn't approve of such contact, she follows his hand but keeps it an inch or so away from his.

"I'm entirely serious. You've got this room, I've got his stuff. I enjoy your company and I hope that you enjoy mine, if only because me being here means you don't have to be here alone. Speaking for myself, I prefer your company over everyone else's in this building. To me, it's obvious that we share this room and these things, no strings attached."

"That would make sense if we were to be… friends. Even you can't deny that we are not. Name your price; I'll be happy to grant it."

"I really don't want any compensation," she says, not wanting to make a totally unnecessary deal. Still, she's yet more opposed to losing this chance now that it has presented itself and he insists like this. "But if you do want to give me something in return… how about you give me a private tour of your shop once all this is said and done?"

She's been to his shop plenty of times, but he always ignored her entirely during those visits, giving her the distinct impression that he wished she weren't there at all.

For a moment, she fears that this wasn't some sort of act after all. But then there's an unmistakable flicker of light, like approval or even hope, on his face in response to her suggestion.

"You've got yourself a deal, Miss French."

"Wonderful. Now, how about we settle in for the night?"

He nods in agreement, gauging her, his face an unreadable mask. Without saying it, he's letting her take the lead, encouraging her to do only what she personally prefers and nothing more or less than that.

"Why don't you light some candles?" she says, handing him the items in question while looking at the cheap and thin candles critically. "Let's hope we won't accidentally burn the convent down when we fall asleep."

"At least we won't be cold any longer in that case," he mutters under his breath, elegant and dexterous hands lightning the first candle.

Belle giggles at his dry words, her smile faltering when he abruptly looks up at her, eyes wide and startled. She wouldn't dare guess how long it has been since someone laughed at his jokes. At least it's no surprise to her that the pawnbroker is yet more charming than she already thought.

"Mind if I borrow this?" she asks, gesturing at his cane as she reminds herself at the tasks at hand. "I can use it to brace it to the door to get a sense of privacy here."

"Of course."

He watches her closely when she fully shuts the door and puts his cane against it at an angle, effectively shutting out the sound of the other temporary inhabitants of the convent.

"Well, it's better than what it was," she remarks, surveying the room. Now that he has lit half a dozen candles, the water dripping down the roof and walls before disappearing beneath rotten floorboards is yet more obvious, but the area around the bed looks rather cozy. "Let's have something to eat?"

"Thank you, that's very kind of you," he says when she hands him several granola bars.

Belle settles herself at his side again, her spirits high indeed when it dawns on her that, for all intents and purposes, Mr. Gold and herself are having an impromptu dinner in a candlelit room - while sitting on a narrow _bed_.

They've eaten their dinner in no time at all, bringing their attention back to their shivering limbs.

"Let's get warm," she suggests, reaching for the sleeping bag.

"Yes, it's a good thing for you to do that, Miss French."

"Let's get warm in there _together_ ," she says, wondering why her earlier offer to share is already lost on him once more.

"I greatly appreciate your generosity, but you can't mean for us to share _that_ , do you?!"

"As a matter of fact, I do. If you don't object, of course."

"But…"

"But what?" she asks, reaching for his hand and gently taking it in her own.

"You're an incredible woman, Miss French. You're… you're _wonderful_ and..." he trails off, gesturing helplessly at the sleeping bag. "You're… _beautiful_. When we get in there, together, I'm quite certain that I'll embarrass both of use and make you very uncomfortable, no matter how much I want to avoid that."

"As we noted before, we're both small people. But more importantly… I think you're wonderful, too. I'm not afraid of what might happen if we spend the night together like that… In fact, I'm looking forward to it."

To prove her point, she unbuttons her blouse and shrugs it down her shoulders, before removing her skirt and stockings as well. She shivers pleasantly at the look in his eyes, disbelieving and utterly awed, especially when she takes off her bra from beneath her camisole top.

Swallowing heavily, the landlord removes his tie and unbuttons his suit jacket in response. Entirely enchanted, she watches him take off his waistcoat, socks and dress shirt as well, before he hesitates as he reaches for his trousers. After a few seconds, he removes those as well, revealing a set of dark blue, very soft and inviting looking boxer shorts.

To leave no room whatsoever for doubt about her feelings for him, she places both her hands on his sides, his heat reaching her through the thin layer of cotton which he is still wearing. Thrilled that he _groans_ at the contact, his eyes fluttering closed, Belle caresses him lightly until he is wholly relaxed under her hands.

By then, she can't resist the temptation any longer to inch her fingers underneath his undershirt, increasing the pressure to his bare skin until he is yet more delightfully vocal in his response. She expected that it would stop there, but to her delight he gestures at the hem of the shirt.

"Would you… take that off? If you like?" he asks, glancing at her from behind his hair in a manner which is endearingly shy.

"I'd love to," she says, her lip caught between her teeth in anticipation as she roughly exhales, admiring him when she pulls the fabric over his head. His anxious expression softens when he sees the look on her face.

"You're gorgeous," she says, thrilled that she can finally tell him this.

"Miss French, I know better than to question your eyesight, but…"

" _Gorgeous_ ," she repeats, resting her palms on his bare chest.

"So are you," he whispers. "So very, _very_ beautiful."

He shivers, reminding her that they're still sitting in their underwear in the chilly room… although the quivering in her own body has very little to do with the cold.

"Let's get inside the sleeping bag," she suggests, the prospect yet better now that they're sitting together like this.

"I'm hardly cold anymore," he rasps, tentatively reaching for her.

"Neither am I," she replies, despite the circumstances indeed feeling warmer than she has for a considerable time. "Still, I'd love to go in there."

He nods sharply, his gaze shifting between her practically undressed self and the single sleeping bag she intends for the two of them to share.

"For as far as I'm concerned, we simply get comfortable now and we get... better acquainted in a more private and comfortable setting."

No matter how much she'd like to get her hands all over him, or at least her eyes, Belle doesn't want to rush the shy, still very private pawnbroker. Besides, sleeping so closely to him will doubtlessly be a delight in its own right.

"Shall I go in first?" he offers, gesturing at his ankle, on which she spots only now the thick scar tissue which must be a result of whatever incident that causes him to walk with difficulty.

She nods in response, opening the sleeping bag quickly. Helping him get into it, she zips it halfway up once he's comfortable. Very much aware of the longing way he looks at her, she squeezes herself at his side, happily sighing at all the physical contact they find that way.

"Please understand that my body will probably… react when it is in such close proximity to yours," he whispers, looking as if he's still convinced that she'll be horrified by the mere notion.

"I understand. The only reason I'm hoping that your body will not react is that there isn't much space to do anything about it here. Although you're _very_ welcome to try."

"I see," he murmurs, the blush that rises to his cheeks visible even in the dim candle light. "Well, I don't suppose it's any consolation, but for the sake of openness… I highly doubt I'll require much movement at all to… well."

"I'll be happy with whatever will or won't happen tonight," she says, pressing a lingering kiss against his cheek before she reaches for the zipper again and pulls it all the way up, leaving the two of them tightly cocooned. "The way I see it, this is only our first of many nights together. Let's just see what might happen; everything is fine with me. More than anything, I'm very happy to be here with you."

"Likewise," he breathes, finally sounding utterly relaxed now that the lack of space has them lying snugly in each other's arms.

To her ever increasing delight, Mr. Gold very carefully rests his hands on her back. The night may have started with involuntarily seeking shelter at the crumbling convent, but like this she feels more protected and comfortable than she has ever been before.


End file.
